Shadowed by Kin
by MewtwoOnAFlyingApe
Summary: Two men are constantly being told to be more like their younger brothers. Don't people understand that it hurts, and that the fit of rage or the arrogance that is shown is all just a lie? (Can be looked at as PruMano, rated T because ROMANO.)


Can anybody see that I am in agony? Perhaps it is not physical agony, but my mind and soul are constantly screaming to be found. Why is it that I cannot meet anybody's expectations, and yet my brother is the perfect role model? They always tell me to be more like him; to lose the temper, the cursing similar to that of a sailor, the worshipping of the tomatoes, the artistic ability, the musical ability... Can I not be my own person? Do I _have_ to be like my brother to be perfection?

I am, however, not the only person who feels as if they are being pushed aside for their own kin. The man sitting in front of me; his hair the shade of freshly fallen snow, his eyes the shade of blood that, in meeting my own, showed the agony that he felt and never displayed. Or at least, until we began to sit down to breakfast every week to exchange our pains and hopes with the other. He, the former country of Prussia, understands the pain of being shadowed by a younger sibling, the way that it rips apart your entire being as you sit there and think, _Am I not good enough? Why do they not like me?_ It destroys every piece of self confidence that you have ever built, similar to how the Big Bad Wolf manages to blow down two of the pigs' houses. One comparison can corrupt your entire being.

I sit across from Gilbert, watching him fiddle with his silverware, a gleam of nervousness easily identified in his eyes. I myself am nervous; nervous to spill the entire being of hatred and pain that I had hidden away from the world. The being of pain and hatred that I directed to my own brother, the same way that everyone else directed that pain and hatred to me to try and change me.

I force a polite smile as the waitress approached us, an innocent smile splayed across her face. I receive the cup of coffee with a slight nod of thanks, settling between my hands to try and warm them up. I huff irritably when I am sure the waitress is not watching us as she leaves, causing Gilbert to crack a weak smile, and then he speaks, "So, Lovino, how has life been? It has been quite awhile, yeah?"

"I suppose I have been alright." I drawled out, stirring the cup of coffee with my spoon. "Just, you know... The usual. Being overshadowed for Feliciano. Again." A bitter laugh escapes me, and I can see Gilbert frowning from his spot across from me. "How about you, asshole?"

"Ah, last time I checked, West wanted to kill me. I may have gotten into his beer supply." Gilbert smirks slightly. "...again." He taps the rim of his coffee cup with his spoon; both of us listening to the metallic clink it created, perhaps as a distraction, before he asks. "Aren't younger brothers annoying?"

"I would drink to that if we had some sort of alcohol coming." I mumbled somewhat amusedly. "The bastards, not serving alcohol here..."

Gilbert laughs loudly, causing me to flush and swat at him irritably. "Agreed. I need some beer when anybody starts to talk about brothers to me."

"...do you hate the potato bastard for always being thought of as superior to you?" I ask quietly. He leans forward, leaning his chin onto the palm of his hand as he studies me carefully.

"Sometimes I do." Gilbert says, his face a mask of seriousness I had never seen displayed across his face. "Sometimes I just get angry. Sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes I begin to wonder why I even exist if the only interaction I receive is to be compared to my brother. Most of the time, I drink away the pain." He shakes his head tiredly, a small sigh escaping him. I hate seeing him so serious because it is not like him at all. Most of the time he's just a dumbass.

"So you're an alcoholic of sorts?" I ask him, a hint of concern sounding in my voice. He offers me a weak smile, as if thanking me for my concerns, before shaking his head slightly. "That's not a very comforting answer, you brat." I huff. He smirks at me, before grasping his spoon and..

 _ **The. Fucker. Did. Not. Just. Flick. Coffee. At. Me.**_

"Chigi!" I exclaimed furiously, jumping up to worriedly examine my very much white button up shirt. Except for the big brown spot in the middle of my chest. I clenched my fist and whispered, "You have five seconds to run, **jackass**." All Gilbert did is laugh, jump out of his seat, and dart out while slapping down the money for the coffee. I dart after him, but not before leaving a tip. _"YOU_ _ **BASTARD**_ _GET_ _BACK HERE!"_

"Doesn't it go like this every week?" The waitress asks her coworker, who chuckles and nods with a slight grin on his face.

"Yeah. A mischevious German and a cursing Italian...who could have guessed?"

"I dunno. All I know is that they look so _cute_ together!" The waitress squeals at the end, causing the man next to her to groan slightly.


End file.
